Here and Now
by hoppa12345
Summary: Set before 1.10 Histories. spoilers for that episode Wilson has a panic attack. His trigger: losing people.


"Lunch?"

Wilson started as House poked his head through the door, but didn't look up from his laptop.

"Busy."

"Porn?"

" _House_."

"Okay, okay." House smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He turned around to leave before calling back over his shoulder, "Oh yeah, your mother called. She said you weren't answering your phone, and to tell you to call her ASAP. She said it was about someone called, uh... Darby... Denny..."

Wilson's head jerked up at those words. His mouth had turned to sandpaper and he struggled to keep his voice neutral as he asked, "Danny?"

"Oh, yeah, that was it." House's words were casual as he tapped his cane against the floor but his eyes were locked intently on his friend as he drank in the oncologist's reaction.

Wilson's heart had started pounding in his chest and he realised he needed to get rid of House sooner rather than later. He forced himself to meet the older doctor's eyes.

"I told you I'm busy. Get out," Wilson ordered quietly, blood rushing in his ears. "Get out," he repeated, louder, when House stayed where he was, looking perplexed.

"Who's Danny?"

"House," he warned, forcing himself to breathe normally. He was beginning to feel lightheaded. _Uh oh, not good._

"C'mon Wilson, who is he?"

Wilson took a deep breath. When he felt it hitch in his throat he knew his time was almost up and he leaped up and exploded, "Get. Out! Get out get out _get out_!"

House, looking alarmed at his friend's sudden outburst, got out.

Wilson locked the door and then slumped down against it, burying his face in his hands as he tried to get his hitching breathing under control. He couldn't have a panic attack. Not here. Not now. _It's only in the early stages_ , he assured himself. _There's still time to stop it._

He took deep breaths through his nose and told himself that it was okay, that his mother was calling with good news, that Danny was fine. Even though he knew that it _wasn't_ okay, that it _wasn't_ good news, that Danny _wasn't_ fine, that he'd never _be_ fine...

White hot panic crashed over him and he struggled to breathe. He gasped for breath as his heart started thumping painfully in his chest again. He was full-on hyperventilating now, and suddenly he could no longer form coherent thoughts. _Not okay. Bad news. Danny_. _Not okay. Bad news. Danny._ _Not okay..._

He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the thoughts and clutched his knees to his chest, rocking slightly in a feeble attempt to calm himself down. He could hear a persistent noise through the ringing in his ears, and it took him a while to realise that he was whimpering, and sobbing, and oh God he couldn't breathe, and he was going to pass out, or die... At that thought, his eyes flew open and he sobbed even harder.

He flinched as he heard a crashing sound. They were coming. He had forgotten to lock the balcony door, and they were coming. They were going to take him away, just like they had taken Danny. He curled in on himself more, trying to make himself as small as possible. "No..." he whimpered between gasping breaths. "No, no, no..."

He heard an exclamation and someone limping closer, they were going to take him, they were going to hurt him, they... _limping?_

Wilson jerked and pressed himself harder into the door. House was working with them. He was going to help them take him away, just like Wilson had helped them take Danny. _It's for your own good,_ he remembered saying to his frantic brother. He'd never noticed how hollow those words sounded before.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and realised that House was crouched in front of him, calling his name. He looked up and frightened brown eyes met icy blue ones.

"Wilson!" House was saying, shaking him slightly. "Wilson, you need to calm down."

Wilson eyes flicked around the room as he tried to look behind House, sinking lower against the door as he shied away from his friend's touch. House turned and followed his gaze.

"Wilson, there's no one there. It's just me."

"They're coming!" he gasped, writhing under House's grip. "Don't wanna go!"

"Wilson! No one's coming. You're safe. You're going to be okay."

The oncologist shook his head as the pain in his chest magnified tenfold. He sobbed hysterically, panic flaring in his eyes as he gasped, "Can't... breathe..."

House took him by the shoulders and drew him forward until they were almost nose to nose, and placed a hand on his back with uncharacteristic gentleness - the only thing that showed just how shaken he was by his friend's current condition and the lack of explanation for it. "Okay, Wilson. I need you to calm down. Just look here" - he pointed to his eyes - "and breathe for me. Can you do that?"

Wilson tried, but all he could think was that House's eyes were the same colour as Danny's, and that Danny wasn't okay. His breath hitched again, and he could hear his own loud, convulsing gasps.

This clearly wasn't working. House sighed and moved away.

But he was out of the oncologist's line of sight, and suddenly new panic, worse than before, washed over Wilson. "No... no..." he choked out. "Can't lose... you too..."

House's face reappeared in front of Wilson's.

"Wilson! I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, okay?"

House sat down next to his friend and Wilson clutched at him, burying his face in the older doctor's shoulder. He felt a strong arm wrap around him, and the other took one of his own hands and placed it on House's chest. He could feel House's heartbeat, and his chest slowly and evenly expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting. "When you feel me breathe, you breathe. Okay?"

Wilson sniffed and nodded into House's shoulder. "'Kay."

 _In. Out. In. Out._

Wilson breathed in House's scent, and slowly he calmed. House's arm was still fastened around his back, and his other hand was stroking his distressed friend's hair. Wilson released a deep, shuddering breath and finally relaxed against the older doctor, feeling exhaustion sweep through him now that the adrenalin rush had subsided.

He yawned and snuggled closer to House, content to fall asleep against his friend's shoulder, all responsibilities forgotten. But House had other plans, and among them was figuring out just what had triggered this.

He pushed Wilson back, forcing him to sit up. House could see a lingering trace of terror in his friend's eyes, and chose his next words carefully.

"Who... how long have you been having panic attacks?"

"First one was just after..." Wilson hesitated, and looked at him anxiously. "You won't like it."

"You can tell me. It's okay."

"O...okay... the first one was just after the infarction."

"So your trigger is... what? Losing people?" House mused, before catching Wilson's glare. "Sorry. Keep going."

"It was just one time, so Cuddy and I didn't think..."

"Cuddy?" House interrupted again. This time he was the one glaring. "You told Cuddy and not me?" Wilson flinched so House quickly amended, "Sorry, you were protecting me, I know. I'll shut up. Go on."

"Okay, well... the next one was about five months later, after my second wife divorced me. They kept increasing in frequency and they became harder and harder to hide. So about three years ago, Cuddy booked me in with a psychiatrist and I've been on anti-anxiety meds ever since." He stopped for a moment and looked sheepish. "I stopped taking them earlier this week, because everything was good. I thought I was finally okay again. But apparently I was wrong," he added, looking dejected.

House quickly decided a good cheering-up was in order.

"Okay, so I have a few questions."

Wilson straightened, making an effort to suppress the aching sadness that threatened to overwhelm him and sound as normal as possible. "Understandable."

"First, you're an idiot."

"That's not a question."

"Okay, maybe I can rephrase that... why are you an idiot?"

"That's like asking, 'why are you an ass?' Some things will always remain shrouded in mystery."

Wilson felt himself relaxing as they fell into their usual banter. His mood lifted and they were both laughing and the only sign anything had been wrong was the carefully ignored hand that rested on Wilson's knee, anchoring him to the here and now.


End file.
